On the Hunt

The red sun gleamed through the dark leaves of the rainforest as birds fluttered from their branches at the approach of the party of hunters who forged a path through the jungle, snaking through the vines and flora of the exotic forest, following the tracks of the beast they were pursuing into the belly of the wilderness. 

“It’s getting late,” one of the men in the rear shouted. “The sun will begin to set. It is best we call off this expedition”.

“We cannot call it off now,” the expedition’s leader replied, as he carved through shrubs with a machete. “Not when we have gone so far, not after what that beast did to our village. The dark is no concern, we have lanterns and plenty of fuel and resources.”

“I still think it would be prudent to circle back. Few of us are familiar with this forest. We do not want to become lost in this land during the night. Nature can be hostile to newcomers. Let us head back while we still can.”

“Desert then, I don’t want cravens in my company,” the leader retorted. “Just know that those who desert will be branded the lowliest of cowards and will bring shame to their tribe and descendants for centuries. When we return with the beast’s head, you will be fortunate to escape with just a lashing.”

But even after the austere threats of the steadfast commander, as the evening approached even his most fervent followers began to doubt the mission, and the hunting party, like the skin of an aging serpent, began to shed its weight. The tracks they were following began to fade. Soon, they were marching without a trail. The sun was beginning to set and the night would need attending to.

The party stopped to prepare lanterns. The group looked intently at their leader. The leader himself was beginning to doubt whether they should continue or head back. It had seemed such an easy task to track down this beast earlier that day, but now it was looking like the obstinate commander would have to admit defeat and return to the village a failure and a blowhard, his biggest fear. Just as the leader began to formulate how he would justify his withdrawal, a hunter shouted, “Over here!”

The party assembled around the hunter. What he found was enough to restore faith in the expedition. A score of paces away from the carved path seeped a stream beside which lay a goat carcass.

“That’s the goat that went missing this morning, no doubt of it,” a hunter said, uncertain whether it was good or bad news.

“It is,” the leader said, now back to his headstrong veneer, relieved the expedition may be a success after all. “We are sure to be near now. Look, the blood is still wet, and the bite marks are fresh.”

With replenished fortitude, the band lit their lanterns and followed the fresh tracks along the stream. It did not take long before they found what they were searching for. In a small alcove where the stream spawned, lay the beast on its side. Slowly and silently the hunters formed a semicircle and approached it. It was about a spear length long with long lean limbs, a thin matte brown pelt, and a feline face that bore two prominent teeth long as daggers. The hunters were a spear’s throw away when one whispered what all were thinking.

“I think it’s dead”.

“It would appear,” the leader murmured. But just in case, he threw his spear into the abdomen of the feline, confirming their beliefs. “We can’t know how she died but go on and give her a go, we’ve earned it. It’s no doubt that she died from our pursuit. It would not be false to say we killed her. Make it look believable but don’t damage her pelt too much. I plan to keep that.” The other hunters all gave the feline a thrust with their spears. A lacklustre end to their hunt, but it was better than returning empty-handed.

“Shall we camp, and return come morning?” one member asked the leader.

“No, we are heading back tonight with the beast. We know the path back and will arrive before high moon. Get a drink from the spring to replenish yourselves; we will depart shortly.”

The beast’s corpse was then placed on a pallet bed and the men drank from the spring. Black as ink, the spring was a sombre watering hole. The men began to talk of how they would split the spoils and what they would do to the deserters when one of the men briefly coughed and then retched. Alarmed, his comrades went by his side, but the retching would not stop. Soon, others began to vomit violently and gasp for breath.

“The water! Don’t drink the water!” the leader shouted as he tried to purge the water from his body.

Then from the recesses of the shadowy alcove, something sinister stirred. The water swelled and rippled as a pall of silence fell over the disoriented men. Two orange eyes of evil, like blazing skulls, beamed rays of infernal malice through the murk at the frightened souls. And with the hiss of a forked tongue, the hunt began once more.